“You give me consolation,” he said, shaking his head; “and, indeed, I am young enough to be very foolish, and as curious as a child. I wonder now—you are honest, Miss Eastwood, and say what you think—I wonder if you would tell me the real cause of poor little Innocent’s marriage, and all her odd ways?”
Nelly’s countenance changed in spite of herself, and in her mind there rose a painful debate. Should she make him some conventional answer, evading his question? or should she answer him in sincerity? After all, she could harm no one by honesty, though it would make her answer unsatisfactory. She looked at him gravely, trying to frame her reply so as to reveal nothing; and then the natural honesty to which he had appealed gained the upper hand.
“Mr. Vane” she said, hurriedly, “if I tell you that I cannot tell you, will you be satisfied? It is a strange way to answer, perhaps, but I cannot do any more. Perhaps some time—but just now I cannot. There is a reason,” she said, growing more agitated. “Oh, please do not take advantage of my wish to tell you, and make me say more.”
“Do you wish to tell me?” he said, touched in spite of all his prejudices.
“Yes,” she cried, “and so did mamma. If we could but have seen you before she went to Sir Alexis; you were the first person we thought of; we have always felt we could trust you. Ah, don’t make me say any more!”
“I will not,” he said gravely. The anxious appeal in her face filled John Vane with many feelings, the foremost of which perhaps did not concern Innocent. “Confound the fellow!” he said within himself, as he had done many times before; and it was not Longueville he meant. They were silent for the rest of the dance through which this very serious conversation ran, but Nelly felt that the cloud between herself and her friend had passed away. He was a true friend, more to be trusted perhaps than—some others who were really more important in her life. Nelly reflected to herself that after all this serious position of counsellor if possible—of sympathizer when counsel was not possible—was rather a friend’s place than a lover’s. A lover (said Nelly to herself) is less concerned with your family and affairs, and more with you. He wants you to enter into his concerns, not he into yours; he is more fond of you, and therefore more exacting. It is you—you—he wants. He thinks nothing of so much importance as to have you to himself. This thought brought a blush upon her cheek, and some small degree of momentary comfort to her heart. It was flattering, at least—for passion is at all times a better excuse than indifference. But John Vane saw clearly, with eyes unblinded by passion—he was clear-sighted enough to see that something was wrong, and being a good kind friend only, not a lover, tried to show his sympathy, and to help if that should be possible. In this point of view a friend might be more satisfactory—more consolatory than a lover; but still friendship and love were very different things. This was the argument that went through Nelly’s mind in the frivolous atmosphere of the ballroom, and while she was dancing with some indifferent person who was neither friend nor lover. “Yes, the rooms are very pretty, Mrs. Barclay has a great deal of taste,” she said, through the midst of her thoughts. “She is very nice indeed, always good-natured and kind. The Longuevilles are coming back for the season to their house in Kensington. They will not go to Italy till next winter.” This kind of prattle can go on very easily on the surface of much graver thoughts.
“What were you talking to John Vane about?” said Ernest, when his turn came.
“About Innocent,” said Nelly, quietly.
“About Innocent! It must be very pleasant to have such an interesting subject. You looked as if your whole hearts were in it—he asking and you replying. An indifferent spectator might have thought the subject of discussion more personal,” said Molyneux, with an angry countenance.
“Innocent is very interesting to me,” said Nelly, with spirit, “and also to Mr. Vane. Though you do not care for her, Ernest, that is not to say that I must become indifferent to my cousin. She has need of her friends, poor child!”